We fell back in lust just as you do into a rabbit hole—fast and frantic. Wolfe, I found out, was quite fond of having sex in unusual places. We had sex in his office and in a restroom at a wedding, on the bed in my old room when my parents weren’t home and against his bedroom window, watching over the pristine street.

He fingered me under the table during an official black-tie dinner and thrust himself into me without warning when I bent down after a shower to open the bottom drawer in the bathroom and retrieve my blow dryer.

I loved every second of us in bed because no one ever needed to wonder when it was time to retreat back to their spot, their wing, or their house. We always fell asleep together and woke up together, insulated in this new, exciting thing called us.

The morning I woke up with a small, visible bump in my lower belly—it felt hard and tough and exciting—my mother walked into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed.

“I’m divorcing your father.”

I had a thousand things I wanted to tell her. From thank God to what took you so long? but I settled for a simple nod, squeezing her hand in mine to give her strength. I couldn’t be more proud of her if I tried. She had a lot to lose. But she was willing to lose it, anyway, if it meant winning back her freedom and voice.

“I think I deserve more. I think I deserved more all along, I just didn’t know that it could be possible. I know that now, through you, Vita Mia. Your happy ending inspired mine.” She wiped away a tear, forcing a smile on her face.

“My story hasn’t ended just yet.” I laughed.

“Not yet,” she agreed with a wink, “but I see where the plot is going.”

“Mama.” I clutched her palm, tears brewing in my eyes. “The best part of your story is yet to be written. You’re doing the right thing.”

Clara and I helped Mama pack her bags. Clara suggested she should book a hotel. I shook my head. It was time for me to go back to where I belonged. And it was time for Wolfe to play nice with both of our mothers—his and mine. I picked up the phone and called my husband. He answered on the first ring.

“I’m ready to come home.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathed. “What took you so long?”

“I needed to see that you meant it. That my freedom was really mine.”

“It is yours,” he said gravely. “It has always been yours.”

“Can Mama and Clara come stay with us for a while?”

“You can bring an entire hostile army into the house and I’d still welcome them with open arms.”

That evening, Wolfe threw all our suitcases into the back of his car with Smithy’s help. My father stood at the doorway and watched us with a glass of something strong. He did not say one thing. It didn’t matter that Wolfe bowed down to him for ten seconds weeks ago. Senator Keaton was still the person who had won everything in the grand scheme of things.

My father had lost, and the game was over.

Once we got to the house, Ms. Sterling (I insisted on calling her Patricia now that I knew she was my mother-in-law), led my mother and Clara to the east wing to get settled. Wolfe and I climbed up the stairs behind them. When we made it to the second floor, I turned toward my room.

“Is this real?” I asked him.

“It is real.”

For the first time, it felt that way, too.

We walked hand in hand to the west wing. We passed by his bedroom, entering the guestroom next to it, where I’d slept the night we entertained the Hatch’s. My breath fluttered behind my ribcage when I realized what I was looking at when he opened the door.

A nursery. All white and crème and soft yellows. Bright and big and fully furnished. I cupped my mouth to stop myself from bawling. His acceptance of this baby somehow tore me apart. It was much more than his acceptance of his child. It was his acceptance of me.

“Everything is changeable,” he said. “Well, other than the fact that we’re having a baby.”

“It’s perfect,” I breathed. “Thank you.”

“You were right. You’re my wife. We’ll sleep together. We’ll live together.” There was a dramatic pause. “We’ll even share a walk-in closet. I used some of the free space you so charitably made for me to accommodate your garments.”

I laughed through my tears. This. Right here. This was everything. Beyond my wildest dreams. A man who loved me without asking for anything back. A man who suffered quietly as I was in love with another man and creeped on me, feeling by feeling, second by second, day by day. He was patient and determined. Callous and overbearing. He watched me kiss and grind Angelo all with his ring on my finger. He went down on his knees to beg the man who’d killed his family to bring me back to him. He did not think he could be a good father, but I knew—I wholeheartedly knew—that he would be the greatest dad in the entire world.

I rose on my toes, pressing a kiss to my husband’s delicious mouth.

He tugged at my long hair.

“Only you,” he said.

“Only you,” I replied.

Senator Wolfe Keaton bent down on one knee and produced the engagement ring I’d left on my pillow weeks ago.

“Be my wife, Nemesis. But know one thing—if you ever wish to leave, I will not clip your wings.”

It was the easiest answer to the toughest question I’d ever been asked. I jerked my husband up by the collar, knowing damn well how much he hated the position in which he was lowered on the ground.

“My wings are not meant to fly,” I whispered. “They’re meant to shield our family.”

Four Years After.

“I NOW BAPTIZE YOU IN the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit for the forgiveness of your sins and the gifts of the Holy Spirits.”

Our second child, Joshua Romeo Keaton, was baptized in St. Raphael’s church in Little Italy in front of our friends and family just days after I received my undergraduate degree in law. I held Josh when the priest trickled holy water on his forehead, looking to my left at my husband, who cradled our very sleepy three-year-old daughter, Emmaline.

As I scanned the long wooden pews to look for the people who made my heart sing, I realized how incredibly blessed I was. I found my mother and her new beau, Charles ‘Charlie’ Stephens, whom she’d been dating for the past six months. He held her hand in his and whispered softly in her ear. She pointed at sleepy Joshua in my arms, and they shared a chuckle. Next to them, Clara and Patricia (or Sterling, as my husband still insisted on calling her) were shedding happy tears, dabbing their faces with tissue. Andrea sat there with her new boyfriend—a Made Man named Mateo and I knew, by the way they held hands, that this was the one guy she would let kiss her—next to some of my school friends and the new governor, Austin Berger. Missing in action, and not by accident, were the people who had loaded obstacles on Wolfe’s and my happily ever after. The people who pushed us together yet tore us apart each in their own way.

My father was in prison, serving a twenty-five-year sentence for attempted murder. Shortly after Mama came to live with us, he tried to take her life. He went mad after he realized her filing for divorce wasn’t just a phase. Naturally, he blamed me and Wolfe for her decision to better her life and leave her abusive husband, who’d left countless purple welts all over her body through their past few years together before I came back from Switzerland. Since Papa had paid some serious money to White under the table, and the latter had tried dragging his feet with collecting evidence against him when my mother’s car blew up to the sky in front of Wolfe’s and my house, an internal, quiet investigation against White and Bishop took place, and the police chief and former governor were now on trial for receiving bribery and illegal campaign contributions from the infamous Arthur Rossi.

During the media coverage of the high-profile case, the person who kept coming up in the news as an example for good morals was my husband, who married into The Outfit yet made sure not to have anything to do with my father or his business.

I felt my husband’s thumb swiping across my upper cheek as he wiped away a tear of joy from my eye. He chucked me under the chin, then grinned. He’d made his way over to me without my even noticing. I was too wrapped up in how fortunate we were. Joshua fussed in my arms, and the priest took a step back and smoothed back his thin and velvety dark hair.

“He was made with God’s love,” Father Spina commented.

My husband scoffed beside me. He wasn’t big on God. Or people. He was big on me and our family. The priest stepped away, and my husband plastered his lips to my ear. “While you did call me god, he was not present during the conception.”

I chuckled, holding Josh to my chest and breathing in his pure scent of new life, shuddering with intense joy coursing through my veins.

“Are you ready to take the little ones home? I think they need their sleep.” My husband put a hand on my shoulder, our daughter fast asleep in the crook of his other arm. We decided to refrain from a big party after the baptism, seeing as our family was constantly in the news because of the trial.

“They’re not the only ones. I could use some sleep, too,” I murmured into my son’s temple.

“Sterling and Clara can take care of Emmie and Josh while I ruin what’s left of your innocence.”

“I think you did a thorough job the first week we met.” I wiggled my brows, and he burst out laughing, something he’d learned how to do slowly after we got back together. “Besides, don’t you need to fly out to DC this evening?”

“Cancelled it.”

“How come?”

“I’m in the mood for spending time with my family.”

“Your country needs you,” I teased.

“And I need you.” He drew me into a hug, kids and all.

Ms. Sterling still lived with us even though she was given strict instructions to stop eavesdropping—a rule she was surprisingly good at following. Clara lived across the city in my mother’s new house, but the two often helped with babysitting the kids together. Despite the fact my father was out of my life, I’d never felt more loved and protected by the people I cared about. And Wolfe was entering an important stage in his career. His time as senator would come to an end in less than two years.